


Partners in Crime

by Askellie (NadaNine)



Series: SLAUE [18]
Category: Undertale (Video Game)
Genre: Bondage, Forced Incest, Imprisonment, Isolation, Punishment, Sensation Play, Torture, Whipping
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-14
Updated: 2018-12-14
Packaged: 2019-09-18 03:04:13
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,132
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16986921
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NadaNine/pseuds/Askellie
Summary: To placate Chara's temper, (Swap) Paps has to come up with an appropriate means of punishing a monster with only 1HP. Thankfully he and Edge are on the same page when it comes to trying to spare Red from an accidental dusting.





	Partners in Crime

**Author's Note:**

> :9 I would like to do a follow-up/aftercare piece for this one eventually with more of a sexy vibe. Timeline-wise, this comes after Overload and Smooth Moves, but before Garden of Eden and The Straw that Broke.
> 
> Content Warnings: Swap!Papyrus/Edge/Red (though not exactly a sex scene); imprisonment, punishment, isolation, forced incest, bondage, whipping, non-consensual soul touching, sensation/emotion sharing, casual mentions of torture and murder.

The cell they’ve been keeping him in is small even for someone of Red’s admittedly compact size. The walls are flat, seamless steel and the door has tightly woven bars that barely let in any of the outside light. Since he’s pretty sure this prison was made for someone stronger and more dangerous than he is, he doesn’t even try investigating the lock on the door or clawing at the hinges. Even if he got out, there’s nowhere for him to go, and some small part of him is horribly relieved because being in the cage alone means not being out there with him.

(Except it might not really be him – not with those round, innocent sockets and that lanky, graceless posture, but Red’s paranoia can’t help but see the shadow of Gaster’s image in the angles of the newcomer’s cheekbones and the long bones of his fingers.)

The thought alone makes his soul quake, and he takes a shaky breath. Sitting with his back to one wall, he can’t quite stretch his legs out all the way, so he keeps them folded up to his chest, arms crossed atop them to support his skull. Curled into a tight ball, he can almost hold himself together without rattling. He tells himself it’s okay to be afraid. He’s probably fucked anyway, if not by Gaster’s doppleganger then by Chara who’s made no secret of their fury. Being forced to wait only sharpens his dread, and he can only imagine that Papyrus must be using this time to convince Chara not to dust him outright and be done with it.

It would be so easy, with his low HP, and frankly he wouldn’t put up much of a fight. He hopes his brother won’t take it too hard.

Sleep is the only reprieve he gets from his morbid thoughts and the stark isolation, and he indulges in it as much as possible. No one’s been down to check on him since they left him here. He hasn’t eaten in however many hours or days it’s been, and a part of him wonders if they might just leave him here indefinitely. It would take a long time for him to starve. Skeletons are particularly resilient in ways more organic monsters aren’t, but that just means he’d suffer for longer. Chara would probably enjoy that.

Footsteps outside the cellblock jolt him abruptly from yet another restless, uncomfortable doze. Every bone in his body quivers with anticipation as the steps come closer, and in his haste to scramble into a more subservient position on his knees he nearly falls fast-first into the opposite wall. Eventually he manages to regain his balance, keeping his head bowed and palms on the floor as most of his human masters had prefered whenever he had to beg forgiveness for crimes both real and imagined. He can see the shadow outside the door blocking out more of the light, and he doesn’t need to look up to know that it’s Papyrus standing in front of the cell. He can smell the faint, telling scents of bitter smoke and honeyed sweetness.

He holds his breath, but doesn’t speak; not until he’s spoken to.

But Papyrus doesn’t say anything either, taking a long minute to simply look down at Red or however much of him is even visible through the thick bars. Finally, after a painfully long wait, there’s a jolting clunk of the lock being released, and the door opens. Red flinches as hands approach his neck, but Papyrus only hooks a clip into his collar and tugs on the newly attached leash.

“Come on.”

They’re leaving the cellblock, Red realises after clumsily staggering to his feet. Is that good or bad? He tries to discern, but although Papyrus’s words are cold and his touch indifferent, he waits for Red to steady his cramped legs before tugging him onward and there’s nothing violent or angry in his posture.

Should he say something? Try and figure out what he’s in for?

“I…” His voice sounds almost too loud in the vacuum of silence between them. He hesitates for a moment, but Papyrus neither chides him nor acknowledges him. Red can’t tell anything from the stolid set of his shoulders. “W-where are we goin’?”

“Upstairs,” Papyrus tells him shortly, which doesn’t explain anything. They could be returning Red to his room, or going to that bloody corner of the courtyard where Chara executed that spy.

He digs his blunt claws into his palms, feeling faintly hysterical. Whatever’s about to happen, he isn’t ready. “Y-you know it was an a-accident, right? I t-told them-!”

“I know,” Papyrus says mildly. “And I believe you, for what it’s worth.”

It just doesn’t matter; was the unspoken sentiment, and Red let out a short whimper, reaching up to hold the clip latched onto his collar. He didn’t dare remove it, but the slight pressure on his vertebrae helped steady him a little.

Papyrus leads him up the staircase, not just to the main floor, but further up. By the second landing, Red is huffing from the exertion, his bones aching from all the movement after his forced inactivity. His breath catches when he recognises the configuration of the hallways and can guess where they’re headed. The Playroom. Terror makes him feel nauseous. He’s gathered from some of Papyrus’s comments and the tools in the room itself that it hasn’t always served as a sex dungeon. It had been Chara’s torture room– maybe even their execution chamber when they need to dispose of someone more discreetly than the spy in the courtyard. He doesn’t doubt that they can find inventive ways to make his single HP last long enough to give him an excruciating death.

Or it could be that Papyrus has talked Chara down to a punishment that was depraved, but not fatal. He desperately hopes that’s the case, and resolves to be as compliant as possible despite every instinct in him screaming to flee. Papyrus opens the door, nudging Red to go in before him, and Red takes a quick moment to scrutinise the room to see what tools might have been prepared for this session.

Of all the things he’s braced himself for, it’s not to see his brother already waiting for them. In place of the usual flimsy lace and ribbons Chara usually forces on him, Edge is wearing a tight pair of leather pants that sit low on his pelvis, baring his illium. He’s wearing matching gloves that go up to the elbow, and after so much conditioning from Papyrus, Red feels unprepared for the flush of arousal that knots tightly in his groin. Aside from that one, sensitive point, the rest of his body feels almost numb with shock as Papyrus drags him across the threshold, keeping the leash pulled up short.

“You ready?” Papyrus asks, and Red starts, but the words weren’t directed at him. Edge nods sharply, his jaw tight, but his hands are almost gentle as he takes the leash from Papyrus and pulls Red close.

Red makes a small, abortive sound as the question he wants to ask dies in the face of his brother’s hard glare. He knows that look. It doesn’t matter that he doesn’t know what’s going on, he just needs to follow his brother’s lead. Trying not to shiver, he doesn’t resist as Edge manhandles him into position beneath a pair of dangling cuffs. Red’s arms are forced to stretch up to the ceiling, forcing him onto his toes to relieve the weight as his wrists are bound over his head.

Papyrus presses up against his back, and Red finds himself suddenly enclosed between two much larger bodies. Even if one of them is his brother, it’s a struggle not to panic, because Edge’s expression is almost entirely closed off to him. He doesn’t know if it’s good or bad that Edge is here; whether that’s resentment or concern in his brother’s eyes.

“Just like we talked about,” Papyrus murmurs, his hands gliding down Red’s back on either side of his spine. Something significant must have changed in the time Red’s been locked up because normally such a gentle encouragement would only have Edge spitting in Papyrus’s face. Instead there’s only a brief flash of something like annoyance before Edge reaches up and bites down on the fingertip of one of his gloves so he can pull it off with his teeth. Discarding the garment, he takes a long moment to consider Red before taking firm hold of his chin and pressing a kiss to his mouth.

Red’s mind stutters to a stop. That’s not…they don’t…do that. Not in all the times Papyrus or Chara have thrown them together and demanded they touch each other. Sometimes in the heat of the moment Red will nip at his brother’s vertebrae or nuzzle the underside of his jaw, but kissing feels like an uncomfortable line to cross.

Edge doesn’t kiss him like he’s trying to enjoy it – more like he’s trying to fight with his tongue to take ownership of Red’s mouth. Red has the perturbing thought that this might be the only kind of kiss his brother has ever experienced, and a mixed pang of guilt and horror shudders through him before he forces it down and turns pliant. Plenty of his human masters had kissed him this way, forcing that unwanted intimacy on him like they had something to prove about the ownership of his body. Red’s instinctive reaction is to go pliant, to let Edge take what he wants, but there’s no quieting the hysterical corner of his mind that wants him to stop this because it’s his brother, his brother-!

Edge’s naked hand runs down Red’s ribs, the clink of bone on bone making an almost musical sound that immediately freezes him in place. His chest goes tight, dread holding him paralysed because now he knows why Papyrus removed that glove. He whines a fearful protest into Edge’s mouth but the sound is simply swallowed by the slippery invasion of Edge’s tongue as his brother’s hand takes hold of his spine and gives it a firm squeeze.

That minimal contact is all it takes. Red’s soul splutters into existence, burning fiercely with conflicted emotions. Edge draws back enough for Red to breathe, and he gasps fitfully, twisting in the cuffs. He wants to draw his hands down and cover up the obscene light shimmering through his ribs. Edge is staring – he probably can’t help himself – but Red twists his face away so he doesn’t have to see whatever expression of distaste or revulsion is probably on his face.

He’d been so distracted, he’d almost forgotten about Papyrus, but a pair of hands on his hips suddenly reminds him that he and his brother aren’t alone. Moving slowly, and stroking reassuring circles up the length of Red’s spine, Papyrus’s hands move up towards his chest cavity with slow, inexorable intent.

“D-don’t…” he starts before forcibly cutting himself off. In some way, he’d known this was coming. Chara’s curiosity has been incessant and obvious since the beginning, and now they have a reasonable excuse – however unjustified it may be – not to respect the one thin boundary he’d hoped to maintain. He makes a choked, wretched sound as Papyrus’s fingers carefully close around his soul and slowly draw it down and out of his rib cage.

No matter how many times it happens, it’s always uncomfortable. There’s a tight pull as his soul is drawn away from its natural position below his sternum, like there’s an invisible band of elastic trying to snap it back into place. Unsuppressable panic floods his thoughts, and all he wants to do is break down and start begging.

(He used to, with Gaster, but it never helped. He eventually learned to go quiet and still, saving his energy to help endure the daily horrors.)

Though Papyrus does seem to be doing his best not to actually touch his soul as much as possible, caging it loosely between the long bones of his fingers. Red only feels brief flashes of emotion and pressure, each jolting him uncomfortably, but Papyrus is radiating a forced sense of calm. He’s almost as nervous as Red is, Red realises belatedly, although he has no idea why.

“Ready?” Papyrus asks, his voice pitched low as if Red’s soul might shatter with the sound. It’s not an unreasonable assumption. He’s holding the soul in front of Red’s sternum now, and it’s visibly trembling in place, the smooth planes flaring weakly with protesting light and the faint stripes of old scars staying dull, giving it a mottled, unhealthy appearance.

Ready for what? he wonders faintly, forcing himself to look away from his soul and up into the faces of the other two skeletons. Papyrus’s expression is hooded with the cold indifference Red has come to recognise as a sign he’s doing something distasteful and is trying not to express it. His brother’s face is harsh with the kind of resolve that used to be reserved for his hunting expeditions with Captain Undyne. Edge gives a shallow, tight nod that Papyrus must take as some form of acquiescence because he steps around Red, bringing his untethered soul to bear.

The absolute last thing he expects is for Papyrus to carefully maneuver the soul up and into the cage of Edge’s ribs, releasing it beneath his brother’s sternum. It hovers uncertainly in its new housing, fluttering in confusion against the interior of his chest. Edge makes a face that might be discomfort, taking a shuddering breath, but doesn’t try to extract it when Papyrus moves away.

“Edge agreed to help me with your punishment,” Papyrus says conversationally, turning back to Red with a smile that doesn’t reach his eyes. “He’ll be taking care of your soul for a while.”

Red blinks uncomprehendingly. Can he even do that? Apparently so, since when Edge takes a step back Red feels a twinge through his soul but no more than that. He can feel…other things, as well. A confusing influx of strange, phantom sensations. The encompassing weight of his brother’s magic encasing his soul. A low, background hum of thoughts and feelings that aren’t his own. In a true soul sharing, monsters were supposed to be able to completely share themselves – their thoughts and feelings and memories. He and Edge aren’t quite linked, but he can feel the ghost of a similar bond trying to form, their souls orbiting each other with a kind of magnetism.

“W-why?” he asks, his voice cracking unevenly. It’s hard to talk and remain coherent with his soul forced out of his body, but he’s had an unfortunate amount of experience with the sensation.

Papyrus’s mouth curls at the corner in a crooked smile. “I dunno. I guess he still likes you even if you dropped a ceiling on him.”

Red flinches, and Edge glowers fiercely, speaking for the first time. “That wasn’t his intention and you know it.”

“Aww, it’s cute that you’re so sweet on him,” Papyrus teases, draping himself unabashedly across Edge’s shoulders. Surprisingly, Edge endures stiffly instead of pulling away. Whatever he’d agreed to seems to involve some strict tenets of behavior. “But if you’re asking why he’s holding onto your soul, Red…let me demonstrate.”

He turned away for a moment and, after a short deliberation, chose a heafty leather flogger from one of the displays. He turns back to Edge, and for the first time the strange tension in Papyrus’s expression seems to have drained away. He looks comfortable and at ease as he tests the weight of his implement. “Up against the wall, Edge.”

Edge obliges without complaint, planting both palms on the wall to brace himself, his stance wide and steady. Red watches with some trepidation as Papyrus draws back his arm and with well-practiced finess snaps the flogger across the plane of Edge’s back.

Pain. Red jerks with a yelp, reeling from the sudden, intrusive hurt that isn’t his own. Edge took the blow far more stoically, having been properly braced for it, but Red hadn’t expected that at all.

“Turns out that if you place a soul in another receptive vessel, the physical sensations cross over,” Papyrus remarks, looking absurdly pleased at Red’s aghast expression. “You’ll feel everything that he feels.”

He steps closer to Edge and gently runs a finger along the invisible welt across his spine. Edge hisses lowly, almost jerking away before catching his reaction. Red gasps as well, feeling unwelcome pressure on the lingering sting. The sensation is strangely misplaced, not feeling like it’s originating anywhere in his own body, but hurting persistently nonetheless.

“Standard punishment for damage to the estate is twenty lashes,” Papyrus goes on casually, his gaze sharpening on Red. “Punishment for injuries to other members of the household is ten lashes per person.”

Red balked. How many people had there been? Blue, Papyrus, Edge…Sans? He’d been in the room when it started even if he’d somehow vanished in the aftermath of the explosion. What about the newcomer?

“Punishment for breaking or interfering with a collar is another thirty,” Papyrus continues, and Red feels devastated. Even guessing conservatively, his accumulated punishment totaled up to eighty lashes. There was no way his body would ensure that. His bones were too brittle, even with the determination he’d been given.

Papyrus gave him a knowing look. “Even if I was careful, I’m pretty sure that would kill you…but Edge here is a bit more robust than you are. He’ll take the hits, but you get to feel them.”

That was as impressively creative as it was cruel. Red shoots a fervent look at his brother, but Edge is staring blankly at the wall, his expression almost serene. He’d agreed to this, Red realises. Edge agreed to take the lashing just so Red wouldn’t have to die.

But even if Edge could possibly survive that many blows, it was going to hurt immensely, and he didn’t want to see his brother suffering from his own stupid mistake.

“B-but-!” he objects, wrists twisting against the bonds. If he could, he’d throw himself at Papyrus’s feet. “He shouldn’t h-have to…it was my f-fault. I-”

A bony finger taps his teeth, startling him to silence. Papyrus gives him a meaningful look. “Unfortunately, that’s not your decision. Chara’s already made up their mind.”

Red slumps, defeated, and Papyrus spins the flogger with an elaborate flourish, drawing back his arm again.

“That first hit didn’t count by the way,” Papyrus says with false cheer. “It was just a practice one.”

“Asshole,” Edge snarls quietly under his breath, but stands firm, and Red can only watch as the first of many lashes falls across his back.


End file.
